


Glass Coffin

by Haluwasa2



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Murderer Ventus, One sided TerraVen, Really only mentions of other characters, character piece, post kh3, ventus interspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 21:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19963696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haluwasa2/pseuds/Haluwasa2
Summary: After being woken up by and losing Sora, Ventus daydreams about many things: true love's kiss, his past, and secrets that he has been keeping.





	Glass Coffin

Lying beneath the stars, in a patch of soft, green grass, he imagines himself in a glass coffin. He imagines himself as Snow White once was: trapped in a sleeping death. Awaiting a true love. His hands press to his chest, his eyes are closed. He does not stare at the sky above him, preferring to think of Dwarven Woodlands and its thick canopy of trees, its soft meadow flowers, and a glass coffin. 

When he slept, he had been placed in a chair, displayed like a porcelain doll. If one saw him, the only illusion that might have broken it was the soft lift of his chest as he breathed. The person who had woken him up had not been true love. The one who rescued him had been a brother of sorts, blue-eyed and carrying so many more hearts than he needed. 

And now he was gone. 

Ventus was left, lying with his daydreams of a glass coffin. But also of a prince. He imagines a large, tan hand sprawled out over the glass coffin as its owner looks down on him with oceanic blues. Clear tears drop onto the coffin before he notices that Ventus is breathing. Slowly, the glass coffin moves, slipping off and into the bed of tulips surrounding it. Petals fly in small gusts to their death on the ground. 

Muscled arms lift him. Their foreheads press together as a hand gingerly cups his cheek as though Ventus is the fragile glass coffin itself. Soft lips meet his. It is chaste and brief-- it is love. Ven’s eyes flutter open to look up at his savior. His eyes meet Terra’s ( _of course it’s Terra, it was always Terra_ ) and they share a smile.

When Ven’s eyes flutter open outside of his daydream, he is not looking at Terra. He is looking at the permanent twilight sky of the small world of The Mysterious Tower. In the distance, he hears Terra’s laughter and the clink of Keyblades against each other. A pang thrums in Ven’s chest. Terra is with the one he loves. 

And Ven can’t blame them. The two had known each other longer and saw Ven as younger. To them, he was a child. At one time, he was a child. Training under Xehanort, being pushed to released unbridled darkness and refusing, he had been a child. As he dashed around world to world-- desperately searching for Terra, for friends, for answers-- his mind had been a child’s. As he slept in Castle Oblivion and rested his heart in Sora, he had been a child. 

When he had been awoken, he was no longer a child. In fact, he had never been a child at all. 

When Sora had woken him up, he had awoken more things than he had ever intended. 

The longer Ventus was awake, the more he remembered. It was inklings at first. Just nudgings at his chest that became hissing whispers that sounded all too much like Vanitas. 

_“You know what you did. You know you did it. You know who you are.”_

And he did. Just as he had known Chirithy was _his_ Chirithy, and all that entailed. He knew there had been other Chirithies. He knew what being able to see Chirithy meant, even if the others didn’t. He knew what it meant for where Sora was and why Riku had been able to follow him there--

_He wondered desperately if it would be Terra who could do that for him. He wanted it. To see the mark on Terra’s back. To own him the way Sora owned Riku. Willing. Loved. Loyal._

\-- and what that meant for what was going on with the lot of them. He did not say what he knew. How could he? Oh, they’d believe him. But there would be a cost; one Ventus didn’t want to pay. And the voice that sounded like Vanitas dripped over his mind when he considered it. It meant revealing too much of himself. 

More memories had come not long after that. He remembered Lauriam first. A nightmare had raked through him. Blue eyes shining like a smoldering fire, bearing down on him as coattails flapped in the wind. Missing Ache was brought up to protect against Divine Rose. Teeth bared at him, snapping, saliva hitting his cheeks as anger surrounded Ventus in full force.

The voice felt like a chain in the pit of his stomach that extended out to shackle along his wrists and ankles, cold, metal and heavy. The voice would hiss to him, _“You can’t let them know. You can_ **_never_ ** _let them know.”_ It was as though he was chained to that glass coffin, suffocating without air as the chain and shackles dragged him lower and lower into the abyss beneath it. Terra was not coming to save him. 

And if Terra found out, he would never come to save him. 

He remembered the masters next. He had not known them well, but he remembered the jealousy. Some old master who was long gone by time Ventus had arrived had dictated them the leaders. And for what? Ava and Gula were his age. But they were talented. Ventus had to claw his way up the rankings, gain lux, and still, it never felt good enough. Even when Ava had come to him, it was not because she noticed him for the role of Dandelion leader, but because someone else had: that old Master had hand-selected him. 

She had told him that we all had hidden talents. Now, he looked back and wished he had taken her words for the kindness that it was. He remembered well the smile he had put on, hating her judgment of him. Self-hatred poured through him and redirected to Ava. When the Dandelions mourned her, Ventus had only played the part. 

The voice in his head was not Vanitas. That much was clear. If it was the other, slowly seeping his way back into Ventus’ heart until they were one again, without the threat of the X-Blade, then Ventus knew he would not have been able to see Ava with new eyes. To see all he remembered with new eyes. And he remembered so much, so painfully much.

Luxu followed, with his offer. Luxu was sympathetic and a weasel. His voice dripped in politeness with a greasy undertone--

_And worst of all Ventus had figured out who he had become. And that he was far from dead. Luxu was not so easily slain. Something was coming, something worse than Xehanort. Ventus had to play the fool. That was the only option. At least then, they might forgive him._

\--because he had a job to do. And he promised that he had felt for Ven, he really did. What gave the Master of Masters the right to go forth and predict their futures anyway? But just do this one little thing, Ven. It’s your destiny. 

He had loved Luxu, too. Everything about him had drawn Ventus in like a fly to a Venus Flytrap. The way the other held his cheek and told him that he was good. That he was better because the Master of Masters had picked him-- that Luxu had picked him. He could have asked anyone to do the job, really. Luxu didn’t have a Book of Prophecies, but he was the Master’s best student. Better than Ava. No, it was not the way he loves Terra now, but sickly sycophantic worship-- 

_Broken only when he saw Skuld with No Name. Broken when he realized that he was not the only one Luxu chose. Broken when he realized that Luxu had wanted to break him the way the Master had broken Luxu. An experiment of separation, disappointment,_ _bereavement in order to cultivate his darkness. Luxu was not so different than Xehanort, but he was smarter and better. Darkness was a personal matter and Luxu knew it. He probably still knows it._

\--that would end up destroying Ven. Like following a thread down a path, it let him remember Skuld and then Ephemer. Subconsciously, he supposed, he had modeled this new him after Ephemer. The other had been so good, so likable, that it was hard not to. Even then, Ven just wanted to be noticed, like as Ephemer was. But it was him then and Sora now. But people liked Ven. 

And he had to remain this Ven, the voice reminded him. His new darkness, he decided, that sounded like Vanitas, but was not. They had been apart too long. Ventus had to wonder if Vanitas was growing a new light wherever he was. And he was out there, somewhere. That much Ven could sense. And he was glad to be rid of Vanitas. He could not wait for the ability to sense to be gone from him for good. 

At one time, he yearned to be reunited with his darkness. It felt natural and right, like destiny. Ven was done with destiny. What good had destiny brought him? And if he was separated from Vanitas it would be so much easier. 

Vanitas is the darkness; he was the one who gave Brain the book and wanted to see the glitch in the stream. Vanitas is the darkness; he was the one who pretended to be none the wiser until he could pretend no longer. Vanitas is the darkness; he was the one who lashed out at Skuld. Vanitas is the darkness; he is who Ventus used to be. The others would believe that. They would pity him, unshackle his chains and pull him from the glass coffin.

Perhaps Terra would pull him close and let Ventus listen to his heartbeat. He would let Ventus be soothed by the thrum of pumping blood that breathed life into him. Ven would press his face deep into his chest, suck in its warmth. His fingers would curl against a pectoral, just over Terra’s heart and feel the thin shirt above Terra’s flesh. They would be close and Terra would wrap his arms around Ven like a protective shell, shielding him from the past. In that moment, Terra would realize that he loved Ventus. That Ventus was no longer a child, but an old soul (older than him) in a youthful body. One that was aging again, catching up to Terra, but would never be as tall as him. A perfect body to shield from harm.

To shield from Lauriam when the other found him again. 

They had been getting hails from various worlds. Ventus was losing sleep to hide the fact that Lauriam and Elrena were searching for them. The two were awake and had their memories and Ventus knew that they were coming for him. The voice whispered, _“They’ll warn the others about you. Make sure they’re never found.”_ And that is exactly what he did. Every frequency he could, he blocked or tore apart. He iced communications and closed off the GummiPhone signals. The two of them could be lost forever for all he cared. 

And he would hide his new darkness from the others. Besides, it was small now, wasn’t it? It did not rule him but merely hissed like shoulder devil like the ones in some of the old cartoons that Scrooge had shown in Twilight Town. And he only had to listen when it protected him. He did not want to hurt Aqua, even if he was jealous. He was not Vanitas. He was not destructive. He was not a murderer--

_But he was._

\--and he was not the Ventus of Daybreak Town. He was new. 

But she haunted him at night. Her long red hair and soft, ghostly pallor came to him in dreams. Her red bows and kind eyes stalked him at night. When he had killed her--

_When he had been the old him. When he had been what he insisted Vanitas had taken when Xehanort tore them apart._

\--there had been no blood. It had been like watching a heartless take a heart captive. He sliced her from behind with Missing Ache in the dead of night. Only her Chirithy had bared witness. And the sky of stars that had looked down upon him, hiding in the shadows of the warm night, witnessed as well. But they could not give testimony. They kept his secrets. He had watched her go down, her heart flying into the air, with a cold sternness to his face.

_This was his destiny._

Her Chrithy fell moments after and he felt more sympathy for the lonesome creature than he had for her. His hands had picked up her Book, the weight as familiar as its own. There were no secret, no missing pages. It was identical--

_But his was real. Because the Master of Masters had chosen him. Because Luxu had chosen him and trusted the Master’s judgment._

\--to his own. He had tucked it away in a bag. His Chrithy did not become a Nightmare. He was not dark, he was not evil--

_He was chosen._

\--and he had completed his irksome destiny. And then he’d given the Book to Brain. Because he wanted to watch the plan break. Because even then he was sick of destiny. He had just forgotten about that. 

Maybe, fearfully, he thinks, he is the same. The darkness that is manifesting anew inside him is the same and being in the purest heart alive for ten years didn’t make any difference. Because he is still hiding, still avoiding destiny,--

_Because he still so desperately wants to be loved for him._

\--but now he is being a coward. When had he ever been a coward? When the fear that the others would abandon him had crept in, maybe? But they had not abandoned Isa. They had welcomed him with open arms.

_But Isa had betrayed Xehanort in an effort to turn the tide in their favor._

But they had not abandoned Even. 

_But Even had helped Isa covertly and created the replica vessels for the nobodies._

But they had not abandoned Demyx, even when he had not been recompleted.

_Because it meant that he had to die and Demyx was content as he was. Because that was his reward for putting his safety on the line and bringing them Roxas’ vessel._

Ventus had killed an innocent girl. Ventus had caused the end of the Dandelions. Ventus had hidden it all from them and now it was too late to turn back. His old soul was haunting him.

_He wanted so desperately to be new._

His body shakes with tremors and he sits up. He had to tell them. No, he had to tell Terra. Maybe the other wouldn’t believe him--

_Or, even scarier, he would._

\--but Ventus knew it was happening all over again. This was not new. This was the old him. If he wanted to be new, to be young, then he had to tell Terra.

_And beg the other not to tell. Not till Ven was ready._

Still, as he looks over his shoulder, he feels the fear dripping through him. He could feel the hate. Lauriam’s fire blues mix with Terra’s oceans in his mind and it was a sight that Ventus could not bare. Love tore at his heart, knowing that it would seal his glass coffin forever. It would tighten new shackles and leave him staring wide-eyed up into the canopy of trees. But Terra deserved to know. Because Ventus loves him and he loves him differently than everyone else in their lives. He would tell him.

  
_But not today._

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to write Ven in a glass coffin and it turned into this. I wrote this like a person possessed.


End file.
